


Tatami and Steel

by Liara_90



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Light Bondage, Love, One Shot, Oral Sex, Smut, Sparring, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pyrrha and Yang spar, and to the victor go the spoils. Love and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tatami and Steel

**Author's Note:**

> This work was heavily inspired by ["Oxus"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905862/) by [CourierNinetyTwo.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/works)

They were in a building without a name, unfurnished and unadorned, little more than the fundamental components of four walls and a roof. At its core the room was made of only two things, imbued with a soul by two elements unforeseeably brought together. One was tatami, beautiful in its precision, elegant in a perfection exchanged for innumerable hours of investment. The other was steel, unyielding, heated in a crucible until it was the will of fire given shape. The steel was everywhere, the frame and lattice of the building, in the walls and the rafters and the columned pillars. The tatami, conversely, carpeted only a small patch of the floor, wrapping around a few of the pillars before abruptly ending. The materials were of wildly different aesthetics, combined without a thought for tradition or synergy, as if a designer had been asked to envision some kind of post-industrial dojo.

They'd certainly learned enough in it.

Yang was airborne, fist pulled back, preparing to bring the full force of her muscles down on Pyrrha's guard. Pyrrha raised her forearms with time to spare, absorbing Yang's blow without the hint of a crack. The impact staggered the deliverer almost as much as the recipient, Yang having grown accustomed to Pyrrha deftly sidestepping her more telegraphed attacks, had planned to convert her (now non-existent) momentum into a low roundhouse kick. Another one of Pyrrha's lessons about the dangers of assumptions, no doubt.

A lesson that was literally beaten into Yang a moment later, Pyrrha unleashing a flurry of jabs against her off-balanced sparring partner. Yang let out a sharp _hiss_ of pain as she was forced to create distance between them, her own blows barely keeping her attacker at bay. A liberal use of her Aura was the only reason Yang wasn't covered in a dozen cuts and bruises by now, her soul healing her body's physical wounds almost as quickly as they were accumulated. But it still _hurt_ , the pain lingering in Yang's mind even if it was just the ghost of a bygone injury.

Yang was more prepared for the next volley of attacks, managing to weave her way out of the worst of a storm of fists and elbows. Her defense had never been as good as her offense, although sparring with Pyrrha for months had forced to improve, and _fast_. At least now she could trust muscle memory to do some of the work for her, knew at minimum the broad outlines of Pyrrha's fighting style, and where best to position herself in turn. And she _intimately_ knew every muscled inch of her opponent's body, the strength of her legs, the power of her arms...

A body blow against Pyrrha was Yang's reward for her deft footwork, though it was far too small a victory to cheer. Yang was burning through her Aura at a dangerous rate, was beginning to feel lingering pains which were no longer fully healed. An over-powering exhaustion was creeping at the edge of her consciousness, ready to claim her body and mind when she no longer had the spirit to resist.

"You know… we can stop whenever you want," called out Pyrrha, Yang taking a bit of pride in the fact that at least her breaths were labored. Not enough for her to stop being a horrible taunt, but it was something.

"You'd…like that," groaned out Yang, readjusting her stance in response to a change in Pyrrha's, as much as she felt like just doubling-over and gasping for air. "Make things…nice and… easy."

It had been Pyrrha's idea, of course, because the gods knew Yang would never have invented this kind of torment on her own. Their weapons were cast aside, Miló and Akoúo̱ resting beside Ember Celicia just out of arm's reach from the mats. No use of their Semblances, either, not that Pyrrha's would have done her much good in a bare-knuckled brawl. Only the absence of real danger kept Yang's fury on a leash, let her mind keep the pain in check. The use of their Auras was restricted to defensive and healing applications, not to strengthen their attacks, otherwise they would have demolished the room a thousand times over by now.

"You've always been easy," Pyrrha teased, though their was no mockery in her voice, only love for the woman she'd give her life for. Yang let out a sly grin in turn, bracing herself for the hailstorm that inevitably followed her girlfriend's attempts to fluster her.

Pyrrha's blows came fast and solid, Yang's arms quivering as they yearned to abandon their guard. In raw strength Yang probably outclassed Pyrrha in every meaningful way, having only grown stronger in the years since Beacon, but it was an unfocused strength, a wildfire when she needed a blowtorch. Pyrrha managed to never be where Yang wanted her, and when she _was_ it was only because she had an even better surprise in mind.

Pyrrha easily blocked Yang's retaliatory strikes, absorbing a punch to the gut in exchange for slipping an arm inside Yang's guard. The blow dazed Yang more than she cared to admit, only reflexes and muscle memory keeping her from going belly-up to her opponent. Pyrrha was driving harder now, sensing that the moment was nigh to force Yang into submission. And Yang knew that she was probably right, but in the meantime it meant her blows were coming in much more aggressively, Pyrrha's lust for victory creating openings her fighter's eye was primed for.

For someone who lived and died by her fists, Yang hadn't actually known much in the way of formal martial arts, to Pyrrha's surprise and horror. Yang's earliest lessons had been in schoolyard tussles, her style little more than a series of improvisations and impulses. Her strength alone put her head-and-shoulders over most people she went toe-to-toe against, and that was before resolve and determination were factored in. There was a reason even The Invincible Girl had to break a sweat against her.

Yang abruptly stopped backpedaling, pivoting in one fluid motion and lashing out with a fist before Pyrrha had time to change tactics. The blow caught the redhead right between the eyes; had it not been for her Aura bone and cartilage would have given. Pyrrha landed with a _thump_ on the tatami, but even seeing stars she was ready for Yang, rolling onto her back and jabbing out with her legs to deny her opponent a vector of attack.

"Pyrrha Nikos… getting _cocky_ ," chided Yang, taking a few steps back to allow Pyrrha to get to her feet. If they started grappling on the mats Yang had no doubts as to where she'd end up. "Pride cometh before the fall." She managed to deliver the line with the utmost confidence, even as she tasted copper on her tongue.

Pyrrha wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and Yang had to admit she _loved_ seeing her girlfriend this way. Sweaty and exhausted and so very much _alive_. When Pyrrha moved the ponytail she'd bound her hair in was like a flame in the wind, seeming to float in the air as Pyrrha spun about in a blur of attacks. The sweat coating her body made every muscle positively _gleam_ , a sports bra and gym shorts doing little to hide the beautiful body beneath.

That Pyrrha _was_ wearing regular workout attire, rather than a martial artist's _gi_ , was only due to Yang's begging, requests Pyrrha was retrospectively very happy she'd given in to. Fighting in what she wore on a daily basis added a visceral edge to their matches, kept her grounded in reality where the trappings of a dojo wouldn't have.

Not that there was much reality in their situation. Had there been any onlookers it surely would have appeared as some kind of absurdity, two of Remnant's greatest fighters pounding one another in a derelict and deserted warehouse. They'd ringed the informal arena with stage lights, illuminating themselves and nothing else like some kind of minimalist martial arts movie. Only a holographic screen tracking the depletion of their Auras intruded, and neither fighter had much time to spare it a glance.

Yang stumbled backwards into a steel pillar, cursing the narrowness of her peripheral vision as Pyrrha leapt into another attack. This time Yang's guard was sloppy, a half-dozen blows landing on her body before she could spin away. Pyrrha was relentless, however, a low kick bringing Yang to one knee before a follow-up sent her tumbling to the mat. Pyrrha was on top of her in a moment.

The building they were fighting in had been purchased almost on a whim by Weiss - or rather, by a cut-out shell company she controlled through an impossibly byzantine ownership structure. Once, it had been a shipping and receiving warehouse for a major logistics company, though that was practically ancient history. It had passed through a variety of increasingly unsavory hands before ending up as a White Fang asset, who in turn lost it to the City of Vale. Its seedy past and proximity to Mountain Glenn meant it had been priced too generously to be passed up, and for a pittance of lien it was theirs.

RWBY's, JNPR's, SSSN's - whenever a Huntsman was in need of a place to lie out of public eye and private surveillance - they came here. With each month they'd found it increasingly convenient to keep their assets off the books, not to be dependent on the whims of politicians and generals. They moved equipment here, bandages and Dust and spare parts for every conceivable weapon. They had direct access to the Cross Continental Transit System and were a stone's throw from the sea, where a few watercraft were moored with similar discretion. Their soundproofing was good enough - and the neighborhood sufficiently empty - that it could even double as an indoor firing range without attracting police attention.

Yang was immensely grateful for the privacy they were afforded as Pyrrha came crashing down atop her, intertwining arms and legs in a bid to keep her pinned. Grappling had always come more intuitively to Yang, because nine times out of ten that was how a proper brawl concluded, bodies pressed too close together for form or technique to matter much. They twisted around on the tatami, Yang looking to slip Pyrrha's grip and return to her feet, but of course her girlfriend had no intention of being that generous.

The blonde was flat on her stomach a moment later, an arm twisted behind her back in an attempt to force submission. An electronic chime had already blared out, announcing that her Aura had dropped below the threshold for a tournament-rules fight, though the pain of a dozen bruises spreading across Yang's body informed her just as well.

"Do you yield?" demanded Pyrrha, sliding around behind and atop Yang to heighten her leverage, the threat of torque tempering dreams of rebellion. Yang's face was being forced into the mat, her eye able to make out every fine thread of the tatami. She tried kicking out with her feet for a moment, hoping that Pyrrha's stance would be sloppy and her captor exposed to a sweeping kick. No such luck, of course, and an increasingly-stringent hold was her only reward.

_Tap. Tap._

Yang's free hand slapped the mat twice, _hard_ , and Pyrrha released her in a moment, the reflex so hard-wired into the fighter that she did so without conscious thought. Yang rolled onto her back and cradled the arm Pyrrha had twisted, letting out a groan of equal parts pain and relief.

Pyrrha gave her perhaps twenty seconds before approaching. Twenty seconds for the adrenaline to begin flushing from Yang's system, twenty seconds for the exhaustion to seep into every muscle and fiber of her being. Yang's body felt heavy, leaden, her limbs barely responsive and her chest heaving with every labored breath. The thin tank top she'd been wearing was soaked through with sweat, as increasingly was the mat beneath her.

Pyrrha was atop her now, hunched over her body like a predator with its fallen prey. A firm hand began stroking through Yang's hair, splayed out like a golden pool beneath her, the firmness of her fingers on a knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Her other hand played across Yang's collarbone, a hand hovering around the base of her throat.

"Now…" breathed Pyrrha," her voice a steel blade covered in silk, "do you submit?"

Her fingers were on Yang's neck now, caressing skin Yang found impossibly sensitive. She knew that in a heartbeat those fingers could turn into a vice-like grip, that with her superior position Pyrrha could choke her beyond Yang's ability to resist. But there was no fear in the defeated girl's mind, Pyrrha's fingers, for all their strength, promised nothing but pleasure. This was her chance to back out, to renege on their unspoken agreement, to let ego triumph over honor…

"You beat me fair and square," Yang answered with a sigh, seeing the smile already beginning to creep over Pyrrha's face. "…I…submit."

The words never sounded any less awkward in Yang's mouth, no matter how many times she'd been prompted to say them. It was an old Mistrali tradition - or so Pyrrha's excuse went - that in ancient times any defeated warrior had to be given the opportunity to surrender. Maybe Pyrrha had believed that at some point, that all this talk of dominance and submission was just the protocol of a sparring match.

As Pyrrha eagerly scampered over to the edge of the mat to retrieves the ropes bundled there, Yang was pretty sure that now it was just because she liked hearing her girlfriend say the words.

"Sit up against the pillar, put your hands behind your back," Pyrrha instructed, and Yang had little choice but to sullenly comply.

"I still say this is bullshit," grumbled Yang, leaning against the steel column. It was cold to the touch, at least to the parts of her skin uncovered by cloth, making the rest of her body feel even sweatier in contrast.

" _You_ agreed to a sparring match by Chavái Islands rules," Pyrrha chided, undoing a bundle of coarse rope as she spoke. Rope infused with threads of crystalline Dust, capable of absorbing the force Yang could exert a thousand times over. Her smile was unmistakable, her excitement unmissable. "It's hardly my fault that Mistrali islanders believe that you've only defeat an opponent once you've properly immobilized them."

"One of these days you're going to admit that you're into bondage, and Blake is going to owe me fifty lien," Yang replied, just a little salty as Pyrrha's fingers began arranging the rope around her wrists. Pyrrha's ropework was as impeccable as any other technique she studied, her movements fluid and practiced, Yang painfully aware that once the ropes were knotted she didn't have a chance in hell of escaping, certainly not without her presently-depleted Aura.

Pyrrha remained silent in the face of Yang's barbs, only smiling softly as she went about her work, looking as if she was about to hum. Once upon a time Yang's words had been the start of an argument, one of many about Pyrrha's sexual self-repression. A lifetime of being expected to always do the _proper_ thing had left Pyrrha afraid to explore her own desires, to act on the love she felt for the fiery woman now before her. Merely coming to terms with Sapphic love had been a hurdle enough, discovering that she had a deviant streak within her was almost terrifying.

They'd dated for months before the issue had been forced, before Yang insisted she wasn't going to run away if Pyrrha said she wanted something a little less vanilla in the bedroom. That if Pyrrha liked tying Yang up there was no need to confine it to the context of a sparring match with antiquated rules. There had been tears in Pyrrha's eyes when Yang had hugged her close and promised her she didn't _care_ what Pyrrha found erotic or romantic, that she didn't need to hide her desires any more than she'd needed to hide her sexuality.

"And one of these days you're going to admit that you like being tied up," replied Pyrrha, positioning herself before her pole-tied girlfriend. Yang, for once, had no witty response, a damning blush creeping across her face. "What's that old saying about the pot and the black kettle?"

"Very funny," shot back Yang, dryly, as Pyrrha straddled her seated form. Pyrrha's arms wrapped around her lover's neck as she pulled their bodies together, strands of red hair that Yang _oh-so-desperately_ wanted to brush drifting across the victor's face. With her wrists tied behind her Yang was deprived of touch, of her ability to stroke and press and _feel_. "Being tied up is… _okay_." As Pyrrha pressed their lips together Yang couldn't wrap her arms around her girlfriend's body, couldn't slide off her top or drift beneath her shorts. And her inability to act, her being at the mercies of another, created such a powerful _need_ that she found herself grinding against her captor's body without so much as a conscious thought.

"Just _okay_?" teased Pyrrha, snapping Yang from her fevered pursuit of _pressure_ long enough to make the woman blush. One muscled hand made its way to bare thigh, sliding up with infuriating deliberation. When Pyrrha's hand finally traversed the thin piece of cloth separating finger from vulva, Yang let out an borderline-violent shudder as an otherworldly chill coursed down her spine. "If I didn’t know better…" her fingers began brushing back and forth, almost leisurely, feeling the contours of Yang's anticipation, "I'd say you rather _enjoyed_ being my prisoner." Yang let out another indistinct grunt, though this had more than a trace of a whimper in it. A calloused hand slipped beneath the elastic waistband of Yang's shorts. "There's no shame in confessing you don't mind being conquered." Pyrrha's strokes slowed to a near-halt, the pressure she kept on Yang's skin an almost-ghostly touch. "Can you admit that you _like_ being my prisoner?"

"I like… being _yours_ ," Yang breathed out, her eyes still shut, her breaths still labored. Yang's hips began gyrating again, desperate for contact. "Please…?"

"I suppose that will have to do for now," said Pyrrha, before planting a series of slow but firm kisses up her girlfriend's neck, pausing only to brush away an intruding strand of blond hair. "But before we deal with _your_ needs," mused Pyrrha, her fingers returning to the slickness between Yang's legs, "to the victor goes the spoils, or so the saying goes."

Yang barely suppressed a defiant shout as Pyrrha's hand was withdrawn, her girlfriend rising to her feet, standing a breath away from her.

"You know if this whole 'world-famous-Huntress' thing doesn't work out for you, I _seriously_ think you should consider a career as a dominatrix," teased Yang, unable to suppress a joke even at risk to her own orgasms. "All those years coaching people has made you pretty damn good and being demanding."

Pyrrha's bare foot brushed where her hand had just been, the light pressure alone threatening to send Yang over the edge. "Take these off," instructed Pyrrha, ignoring her girlfriend's jibe as she pointed to her own shorts. Yang let out a snort and raised her arms behind her, displaying wrists still bound together with rope. "You're going to be using your mouth tonight, anyways."

Yang couldn't help but laugh as she went about trying to pull down Pyrrha's shorts using just her teeth, her laughter drawing out a smile from Pyrrha in return. Normally the tournament champion would never have been this bold, this explicit and domineering in her demands, but something about sparring always put her at ease, their pseudo-roleplaying of the conquered and the conqueror always bringing her to a more assertive headspace. It certainly didn’t hurt that Yang had long ago confessed just how _stimulating_ she found Pyrrha's tone of authority.

Pyrrha had to re-position herself a few times to give Yang the angle she needed, before she hurriedly pulled off the boyshorts she'd been wearing beneath and kicking them out of arm's reach. She stood astride Yang, one foot by each side of her hips, Yang's head at exactly the height and angle she needed it to be…

Yang didn't wait for instruction or permission, her lips finding Pyrrha's folds and her tongue painting broad strokes across sweaty flesh. Pyrrha kept moving her body closer and closer, until she was practically atop Yang, hands running through her hair, gyrating and grinding with ever-growing abandon. Yang's hands slammed ineffectively into the steel pillar she was bound to for the umpteenth time, her mind seemingly unable to accept that she couldn't touch Pyrrha right now, couldn’t alleviate the heat between her own legs. Yang pressed her back into the pillar and slid up an inch or two, shuffling her feet beneath her for leverage. In the bedroom they took their time with these activities, ran marathons rather than sprints. But here they moved with haste, with _need_ , the tension of the fight having brought forth an equal desire to be released. Not to mention that while the warehouse was theirs alone for now, there was no guarantee that it would remain that way for long…

Pyrrha held her girlfriend's head against her crotch as Yang's tongue darted between folds, her lips kissing and mashing tender skin with blind passion. Pyrrha's knees buckled as the strength left her legs, a hand coming to rest on Yang's shoulder as her last shreds of control abandoned her. With a yell and a shudder she felt her whole body vibrate, Yang probing tongue having brought her over the edge.

She sank to her knees atop her captive's legs, her breaths far more labored than after any bout of sparring. Sweat-matted hair veiled her face, her body glistened beneath the arena lights. She moved to kissing Yang without so much as a word, without so much as bothering to brush her hair out of her own face. The kisses were deep and needy, rewarding and desiring. Yang tried to keep up but found Pyrrha's kisses too erratic and unpredictable, locking lips for seconds at a time before tracing a line from collarbone to cheek. " _Thank you_ ," Pyrrha murmured, impossibly softly, as her lips made their way to Yang's ear. Because for all her appearances of authority and domination Pyrrha never changed who she was at heart, never forgot with whom she was in love. Yang might have said that thanks were unnecessary but Pyrrha always offered them all the same, never able to _take_ without some demonstration of gratitude.

When Pyrrha finally pulled back, swiping strands of red hair off of her brow, she couldn’t have missed the prideful grin on Yang's face. Convincing the tournament champion to take a few minutes to _lose_ herself in a sexual indulgence remained a battle up a steep hill.

"Is your neck alright?" asked Pyrrha, wincing ever-so-slightly as Yang rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder.

"My neck's not where the tension is bothering me," replied Yang with a wink, Pyrrha's quizzical expression lasting right up until Yang thrust her pelvis out.

"Oh right, sorry!" apologized Pyrrha sheepishly, practically tripping over herself to get at Yang's shorts before stopping herself, her hand just above the waistband. That coy smile of hers, so rare and so fleeting, flashed across her face. "But do you _really_ feel like your hand-to-hand combat has improved enough for this reward?"

"Oh come on," pleaded Yang, fingers tugging at the knotted coils of rope in one more fruitless quest for freedom. Pyrrha traced a finger idly up one of Yang's legs and down the other, but was otherwise content with just smirking. "I'm, like, you're _prisoner_ … or whatever," groaned Yang, and Pyrrha's finger slipped beneath her waistband but intruded no further. "Doesn't that mean you have to take care of my, uh, _needs_?"

"That's a rather interesting interpretation of the Mantle Conventions," mused Pyrrha, though her fingers hooked the waistband regardless. "I'd agree, but then I'd worry about you throwing our sparring matches just so you can have the _privilege_ of losing to me."

"I've made a lot of improvements since we started," pleaded Yang, even as Pyrrha slid off her shorts and underwear, leaving her pale skin fully exposed to the cool air of the warehouse. "You said my guard's a lot better, same thing with my legwork." Pyrrha pressed her belly flat against the tatami mat between Yang's legs, her lips planting a kiss along every few inches of bared leg. "I even have all those basic _katas_ down pat." Her words brought Pyrrha to the apex of her legs, where Yang's folds were already parted and flush with anticipation. But just as Yang could feel hot breath on her skin, could sense the relief that that mouth promised, Pyrrha stopped short, looking up, expectantly.

"And because…" Yang struggled to string a sentence together, to force thoughts into words, "because one of these days I'm going to _beat_ you, and it's going to be _your_ ass tied up and begging for release."

Pyrrha let out a positively devilish grin at that, rewarding Yang by bringing her fingers to rest against her folds. " _That_ ," she declared, as she began kneading in concentric circles, "will be a day of reckoning indeed."

Yang's breath caught in her throat as Pyrrha went down on her, Yang drawing her knees in almost immediately to offer her lover a better angle. It was a bit of an awkward position to both receive and deliver cunnilingus, though Yang was too ecstatic to notice, and at least Pyrrha had the use of her fingers. Fingers which she knew how to work _magic_ with, tracing between folds, spreading and kneading, delicately pushing and prodding. Two fingers slipped inside Yang, met by labored breaths and decadent groans, while Pyrrha's tongue circled the clitoris with deliberate strokes.

Pyrrha was more patient than Yang had been but needed only a fraction of the effort, her girlfriend so riled up that it made pacing a challenge. When they'd first started dating Pyrrha had been a practical neophyte, ignorant of just what wonders she could work with her tongue and her lips. But as good a coach as Pyrrha was when it came to punches and kicks, when it came to lovemaking Yang Xiao Long was a guru on a whole other level.

"Just… a little… longer…" mewled Yang, eyes shut, mouth open, shoulders rolling forward and back as Pyrrha's fingers and tongue overwhelmed her. She clenched her teeth to keep from shouting as the orgasm hit her like a bullet, her chest heaving as Pyrrha found herself licking newly-wetted skin.

They passed a minute in silence, a minute as the heat of passion was cooled and the chill of the warehouse returned once more. A minute before Pyrrha cradled Yang's jaw and pressed them together yet again, the sweat of their mutual exertions intermingling as bare skin was brushed and rubbed.

"Your Aura should be back to actually useful levels again," said Pyrrha, detaching herself long enough to glance up at the holographic status chart projected in the air above them. "Do you want me to untie you, or do you want to try to break free like you usually do?"

"I kind of like it when you untie me," admitted Yang, just a little sheepishly, a peck of a kiss her reward for her honesty. Pyrrha slid behind her girlfriend and undid the knots with practiced ease, Yang savoring the sensation of Pyrrha's fingers for a few seconds more.

Being restrained didn't normally do much for Yang, bondage was a kink she never expected to have, though she was beginning to see the appeal of tying your partner up. Being able to tease and torment, to position them however you like and extract whatever you want. And as much as she hated to admit that Pyrrha was right, there was something to be said for being helpless, for surrendering and submitting to the machinations of a benevolent lover.

"There you are," declared Pyrrha, casting the Dust-enhanced ropes aside. Yang spent a minute rubbing the skin where the coils had dug into her flesh, but it took scarcely more than a flash of her newly-restored Aura to alleviate the lingering discomfort. Pyrrha retrieved both her undergarments and Yang's, sliding into them with just a hint of remorse. As ready as each woman was for a second round they had a punishingly early morning tomorrow and they'd extended the night far longer than they should have already. "Need a hand?" she asked, extending an arm to the still-seated Yang.

Yang raised her own arm, a few inches out of Pyrrha's reach. Her girlfriend took a small, unthinking step forward, all the opportunity Yang needed to sideswipe her foot and send her tumbling to the tatami. In a flash of movement even Pyrrha couldn’t entirely comprehend the brawler was atop the warrior, each hand pinning a wrist to the mat. There was a predatory glean in Yang's eye as she straddled her lover, a flash-forward to a future she hoped to soon realize.

"One day, Nikos," promised Yang, even as Pyrrha tossed her off with a gentle kick and a grin on her mouth.

Back on her feet, Pyrrha grabbed a handful of Yang's top, fingers curled inside the fabric as she drew them together. "One day," she agreed, her voice as smooth as a polished blade. "But I'm going to make you earn _every… single… minute_ of it."

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, whatever part of my brain that comes up with original ideas seems to have shorted out, so I'm finishing something I started long ago. Bread-and-butter smut. As I'm apt to, I skipped the actual how-they-get-together part because (a) I wanted to tell a story about what happens later and (b) just read [Xekstrin's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xekstrin/works/) ["Greek Fire"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532670/) because that's the best it'll be done.
> 
> I have now officially written stories shipping Pyrrha with Jaune, Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang. If I can find a way to tack on Pyrrha to a Renora relationship then I'll have shipped 'em all. Or close enough, anyways. Compared to my other works this was more about improving my prose than in-depth character study, but I'd appreciate feedback on anything. Tone, atmosphere, choice of words, ambiance… Also, since I'm seemingly incapable of generating ideas, if anyone has suggestions for romantic and/or smutty vignettes that you think my style would be suited for, feel free to leave me a note. I make absolutely zero promises about delivery but I'd like to write more so I'm all ears for now. Maybe something with Weiss…
> 
> My apologies for the inevitable slew of typos I undoubtedly missed. And thanks again to all those who leave kudos and reviews!


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